Killing Mrs Yaxley
by Cisselah
Summary: There was no greater insult to a wizard of Leonard's status and caliber than to be murdered by a lowly peasant, and a muggle at that, which was probably his hag of wife's intention.


**~*Killing Mrs. Yaxley*~**

**Written by: Cisselah**

_**(Chaser 3)**_

_**written for**__ Cearphilly Catapults_**_ in _**_The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition_

_**Prompts: 2, 9 & 11**_

**_~*-.-*~_**

The idiot that had said that drowning was the best way to go had obviously never died.

_Blasted Banshees_, Leonard Yaxley thought angrily as he drifted off towards the blinding white light. Embarrassment and indignation still clung tightly to his soul in the warming light that tried to welcome him, not that Leonard had any intentions of letting it. There was no greater insult to a wizard of Leonard's status and caliber than to be murdered by a lowly peasant, and a muggle at that, which was probably his hag of wife's intention.

Calling forth the ungodly powers he had been born with, Leonard felt them wrap around his soul in a heavy embrace that anchored him to earth, beyond the reach of the heavenly light that was no doubt the flames of hell. Righteous anger filled the place where his heart had been with dark flame he knew would burn either until the end of time or he killed the hag he'd called his wife.

Hopefully would be the later.

His vision clearing from the light that beckoned him forward, Leonard watched as his wife's lover leaned over the tub, checking to see if the man in it was still alive.

He wasn't.

Still, the blonde kept his hands on the drowned man's shoulders, pushing him below the surface for another five to ten seconds before he withdrew with a satisfied smile.

Bloody peasant, Leonard venomously thought as he glared at the man that had murdered him. The man, blissfully unaware of the invisible ghost and his rising fury, dried his hands on Leonard's towel in a careless manner.

Seven years, Leonard thought angrily. Seven years and my inheritance, and she can't even bother to hire a proper professional to take me out. No, she just has to send a man that can't finish the job unless I'm drugged and paralyzed. Rancid cow.

"It's done, love," the blonde called out into the room. The screen that covered the doorway slid open to reveal a beautiful woman in an expensive dress (a dress he had bought her for her birthday despite the outrageous price). She elegantly walked forward towards the tub to peer down dispassionately at the body that laid there. Then she smiled like she had just gotten crowned queen.

"Excellent," she purred. "You've done good, Johann" She laughed. "Now all the money and property belongs to me, the poor, young widow"

Over my dead body! Leonard snarled in his head, glaring at the beautiful woman he had once held more dear than anything. It was clear now that she had never felt the same, that coldhearted banshee. No wonder she had been upset when his family cut him off for marrying her ("That filthy Muggle only wants you for your galleons!" his father had thundered when he heard the news. And oh, how he had been right!), she had probably been mourning all that inheritance that would now go to Leonard's younger brother instead.

Cow.

Spinning around, Leonard willed himself away from the scene of his murder just as his widowed wife threw herself at his murderer, not really fancying seeing what would come next. He reappeared in a grand bedroom, raising a sardonic eyebrow at the sight of the extravagant furniture and golden tapestries.

His sister gave a cry of pure anguish as she saw his translucent form. Immediately the door blew open and his oldest little brother and father burst in, wands raised to defend Meloëne from the presumed attackers. However, at the sight of the ghost hovering in her bedroom, they froze in place, shock visible at their every feature. Behind them, his mother was staring at the dead figure of her son in openmouthed horror.

Since Leonard had long been banished from visiting the house or its inhabitants, he figured it was time to get to the point - before someone started chanting an exorcism.

"Good day," he politely greeted his stunned family. "Don't worry, Father, I just stopped by to inform you of my inconvenient murder. Turns out you were right about Beatrice. Figures. I hope this information will make what's left of your cold, shriveled heart warm. I respectfully... Wait, who am I kidding? I'm dead, I might as well be honest. I disrespectfully hope you take this information and shove it up your dark, tight...-"

"Leonard!" his mother exhaled in a pained breath that was half chiding and half lamenting.

Leonard gave his brother a salute, his stunned father a one figured gesture and faded away on the spot before his uptight father broke out the Holy bible and started chanting.

He spent an hour or two bouncing around, trying to think of someone that could help him. Sadly, the list of people that cared was shorter than his patience, which made finding someone that could both see him and help him deceptively hard. Leonard had been an extraordinarily powerful wizard at the time of his death, but he had long ago chosen to remain in the muggle world, separate from the intrigues and power plays of the magical world. Because of that, he didn't have many magical friends, and those he had were merely more than acquaintances that would not help him either because he had been disowned for marrying a muggle, or because he spent his free time practicing the black arts.

He truly had made it easy for Beatrice to kill him.

At midday he visited his house, finding it full of tooth achingly friendly noblemen and their even more sympathic bishop, whom mournfully declared that it was such a tragedy that Leonard Salomon Yaxley III had passed away after falling asleep in his bathtub this morning, drowning in his sleep. But at least it was painless.

Of course, Leonard thought as he fumed silently in a corner of the room. Falling asleep. Painless. Sure. It's not like I was drugged by my darling wife and then drowned by a peasant.

The same darling wife that was currently crying her eyes out, dressed in her finest black dress and delicate veil, her hair curled in perfect ringlets that it would take a hurricane to destroy. She even managed to look breathtakingly beautiful dressed from head to toe in the ceremonial black clothes of mourning, which were about as plain as the robes worn by monks.

Leonard had never hated her more.

Anger spiraling in his cut, he bared his teeth and kicked out towards one of Beatrice's bony cats. The cat hissed and bared its fangs, all its black furr standing up as it glared at him. Bloody cats. Of all the creatures in the world that had the ability to see ghosts...

"Margeret, what are you doing?" Beatrice chastised the cat in a fond tone. "Stop that. Now!"

"Yes Margaret, stop that. Now!" Leonard mocked her in a shrill tone.

From behind him there was a snort. "Isn't that a bit childish to imitate her like that?" Spinning around, Leonard found one of the servants staring at him with wide eyes, like she couldn't believe he'd heard her. She was one of the most unremarkable girls he had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Firecracker red hair. Pale blue eyes. The simple clothes of a servant. And worst of it all... freckles. So many freckles that Leonard almost went dizzy at the sight of them.

"You!" Leonard bit out with the short, regal tone of a pureblood wizard. "You can see me, girl? Well then, speak up"

The girl, clearly no more than seventeen years old, turned pasty pale. To her credit, she didn't run, which was what most muggle servants would have done if they'd seen their dead master boss them around from beyond the grave he had yet to be put in. And she was a muggle, of that Leonard was sure. He would have known if one of his servants had been a witch (and unlike the others in the parish, he would have been delighted at having a witch in his household).

"Yes, sire," she murmured with red cheeks, glancing around to make sure none of the living caught her talking to herself. They didn't, of course. They were much too busy watching the spectacle that Beatrice was putting on, and even if they hadn't, no one really looked at the servants of a household.

"What's your name, girl?" Leonard demanded to know.

"Rosalyn, sire," the girl whispered, looking at her feet like they were the most intresting things she had ever seen.

"Do you know who I am?" Leonard inquired.

"Lord Yaxley, sire. Former Lord Yaxley, I suppose, since Lord Yaxley is now dead," She glanced at his face hastily as if to reassure herself that he wasn't taking offense. Leonard gave her a hard glare in response.

"Dead..." he repeated distastefully,"Speaking of dead, let us get to the point. You see that ugly hag over there?" he pointed at Beatrice.

Rosalyn squinted.

"Isn't that your wife, Lady Yaxley?" she asked, her eyebrows rising high on forehead.

"Former wife," Leonard grumbled. "And former Lady Yaxley too, if I have anything to say about it!" He gave Rosalyn a cold look. "Bloody cow murdered me this morning"

Rosalyn took the news of Lady Yaxley's murderous nature much calmer than Leonard had done when he first discovered them. She didn't burst out in tears or scream or faint onto the freshly scrubbed marble floor. Instead, she blinked once, twice, three times, then swallowed and nodded.

"Makes sense," she told him. "I knew no godly woman could possibly cheat on a man like you"

Then she turned beet red at the mention of it.

"Never mind that," Leonard snorted. "Although, thanks, I suppose"

"This is the strangest conversation I have ever had," Rosalyn whispered. "And with my dead master at that!"

"War makes the most strangest bedfellows," Leonard nonchalantly informed her, ignoring the way she turned red at the word 'bedfellows'. "Back to the point. I want you to inform the bishop (that ratty piece of corrupt worm food!) of what has happened.

Rosalyn shook her head.

To her defense, one might say that medieval London wasn't exactly the place for a servant girl to speak up and accuse her mistress of murder. Without undeniable proof, Rosalyn was just as likely to end up in the gallows as Beatrice was, maybe even more so considering she didn't have the money or influence to change the judge's mind.

"And not just that," Leonard smiled a smile that revealed his shiny, white teeth. "You're going to accuse her of witchcraft!"

At these words, Rosalyn did nearly faint.

"Are you out of your mind!" she shouted. The entire room went silent, eyes turning towards the servant girl that had interrupted this makeshift wake. Freezing in place, Rosalyn's eyes widened until they looked like they were about to fall out.

"What is the meaning of this!?" Beatrice snottily demanded to know as she slowly walked over the floor of frozen noblemen towards the quivering young girl. "How dare you interrupt this quiet moment of mourning!? I should have you fired on the spot!"

Rosalyn narrowed her eyes, lightning flashing inside that pale blue. She straightened up, her spine turning into an iron rod as she squared her shoulders to take on the recently widowed Lady Beatrice Yaxley.

"Let me repeat myself, Lady Yaxley," she haughtily replied. "Are you out of your mind... murdering Lord Yaxley like that!"

A collective gasp went through the crowd, whispers breaking out at the aftermath of Rosalyn's accusation. Beatrice turned white as a sheet, her eyes widening a bare fraction as she stared at the servant in front of her. Then she quickly pulled herself together, face turning red with anger.

"How dare you!" she shrieked.

"How dare _you!_" Rosalyn threw back. "Killing your husband! You evil cow!"

"Actually, her lover killed me, right after she drugged me with a dark potion" Leonard put in, watching the show with glittering eyes.

"You didn't even have the guts to do it yourself! You just drugged him and let your lover finish him off!" Rosalyn continued like she hadn't heard his words. A new wave of shocked gasps and murmurs went through the crowd. Delighted, Leonard watched as his former wife realized that everything was falling apart. Even if she could dismiss the accusations, the noble society would have rumors it circulating around for years.

"Name her a witch," Leonard ordered Rosalyn, his grin spreading wildly over his face. "Do it now!"

"And as if this gruesome murder wasn't enough..." Rosalyn dramatically swept her gaze over the spellbound crowd. "... Lady Yaxley is a witch!"

Gasps and screams of outrage and horror echoed through the crowd. A lady in the front fell down in a dead faint, her gentleman friend narrowly catching her before she hit the floor. Beatrice gave up a shriek of indignation, her hands flying to her heart as she nailed her gaze on the servant girl with such an intensity that if she really had been a witch, accidental magic would have rendered Rosalyn dead in a heartbeat.

"What proof do you have of this, which makes you brave or foolish enough to accuse your mistress!" Baron Alexander Rockwell demanded to know, his aristocratic face colder than snow.

"My proof is this;" Rosalyn fearlessly snapped. "that my mistress has in her possession a black cat named Margaret, a tool which she uses to carry out her bidding,"

"She hides her spell books underneath the third floorboard to the left in the master bedroom," Leonard grinned mischievously, thanking his lucky gods that he'd been sentimental enough to want his darker books close to home.

"She hides her spell books underneath the third floorboard to the left in the master bedroom!" Rosalyn parroted, her face turning red.

"She hexed Lord Fernsley with boils on his bits!" Leonard eagerly supplied, smiling slightly at the memory of the spell he had cast on the Lord one night when Fernsley had given Leonard's cow of wife one too many longing looks.

"She hexed Lord Fernsley with boils on his bits!" Rosalyn's face turned crimson at the last sentence. Somewhere in the crowd, Lord Fernsley gave up an indignant shout.

"Lies!" Beatrice shrieked. "The wretched girl has always wanted my husband in bed! She's lying to our faces!"

"Enough!" a familiar voice thundered through the room. As one, the crowd turned to face the new arrival.

"Lord Yaxley," Baron Rockwell greeted in a blown out breath, surprise dripping from every feature. And he wasn't the only one. Staring at his father, Leonard discovered that even the dead were prone to life-threatening shocks. The elder Lord Yaxley had long ago withdrawn from the muggle society, living his life as a reclusive powerful man that not even the king himself wished to cross.

"My Lord..." Beatrice stumbled over her words, her face turning white with suppressed fear and horror. Leonard had never told her what he was, but from what little she had seen, Beatrice knew enough to be afraid of his father.

"Shut up, you wrench!" Meloëne hissed from Lord Yaxley's side. "You murdered my brother!"

"You're mistaken, dearest sister, I would never-" Beatrice tried to appease her, but Meloëne would have none of it.

"Shut your mouth, you venomous snake! I have heard enough of your prattle to last me a lifetime! Don't try to talk yourself out of this, Beatrice. Leonard has already told me what you did!" At those words, Beatrice laughed chokingly, looking like she was brittle enough to break in half.

"Madness!" she claimed as she stuck out with her arms, glancing around the crowd to try to find some sympathy. "My poor, beloved Leonard is dead. He fell asleep in the tub and drowned. I should know, I had the heartbreaking sadness of discovering him this morning."

"Sister," Leonard's youngest little brother, Albin, pleaded to Meloëne in a soft voice. "Do not bother explaining yourself to this muggle. Let us just do what we came for"

Detatchedly, Leonard realized that his entire family was here. His mother, father, Meloëne, Albin and oldest little brother Edric had all stepped inside the rather crowded room, their wands drawn and their faces similar to what Leonard suspected Salazar Slytherin's must have looked like when he got exiled from the school he had helped build. Cowering on the floor beside Edric's feet, firmly dragged forward and held still by the hair, was Beatrice's lover, the man that had murdered Leonard.

One didn't have to be a mathematician to realize what was coming next.

"You disowned him!" Beatrice shouted, her face flickering from fear to anger, anger to fear and then back again. Apparently she had reached the same conclusion as Leonard. "You cut him off from your line!"

"And with good reason!" Leonard's mother coldly told her widowed daughter-in-law. "You disgrace the ground you walk on, you filthy muggle!"

As if she was starting to suspect the Yaxleys were something other than human, Rosalyn inched towards Leonard's translucent shape.

"You hated him!" Beatrice shouted in a last line of defense.

"I loved my son!" Lady Yaxley snapped. "And you - you greedy, ungrateful thief - murdered him!"

Fear had turned to terror on her beautiful face and Beatrice desperately turned around, her gaze screaming for the audience to help her, to save her from the Yaxley's revenge. But wherever she looked, people looked away, unwilling to save her now doomed skin.

"You murdered him for his gold," Lady Yaxley continued mercilessly. "And now you can spend your eternity with it!"

She raised her wand, wordlessly flicking it as the room started to shake. The huge tapestries started to flutter, the furniture started to quiver, and all the gold in the room (and there was plenty of that) started to melt in a steady stream of shining gold. The crowd would have screamed, run for their lives maybe, but their fear of the Yaxley's were too great and they remained in their frozen, please-don't-see-me states.

Under Lady Yaxley's command, all the gold in the room flew towards the screaming Beatrice, hitting her from all angles, sticking to her with loud 'smacks' as she wailed out her horror. Soon all that was left was a golden statue, standing in the middle of the room, frozen in an eternal wail with an expression that could only be described as terrified.

But Lady Yaxley wasn't finished yet. With another flick of her wand, she turned her wand towards Beatrice's lover. Immediately he started to scream (a very girly scream if Leonard had anything to say about it) as he started to shrink. Before the noblemen's eyes, the man turned into a squealing pig, his beady little eyes rolling in his head as he squealed in a pitiful manner.

"You sleep with a pig," Lady Yaxley coldly stated. "You might as well be one"

Grinning wildly, Leonard found that the world had started to dissolve into a world of bright, white light. His death was avenged, his wife imprisoned in a cage of her own greed and her lover fittingly turned into bacon. What he had set out to do was now finished, and Leonard was finally able to move on. But first he had something to say.

"Thank you," he told his family as his form started to fade into the bright light. HIs sister was crying bittersweet tears as she watched him go with a blissful smile. "I was wrong and you were right. I'll hope you can forgive me"

"Of course we can!" Meloëne burst out.

Leonard smile.

"Father," he gazed at his father, trying to find that cold, proud face in a sea of white light. "Take care of Rosalyn, would you? She's a fine girl"

His father nodded.

"And Father," Leonard's voice was no more than a whisper. "You're still a complete ass"

And with those last words and the lingering satisfaction at the sight of his father's priceless face, Leonard faded into the light forever.

~*-.-*~

**The End**


End file.
